Chapter Text
"You're not supposed to be here."
Sibella is six and a good deal too proud and clever for her age, Mama always says, but only because she knows she'll get away with it. And if she gets away with bossing her parents around, and her foolish sister and even her brother, then how much more this lost little boy who just stands there with eyes as round as tea plates?
"Oh, beg your pardon, Miss," the maid replies, her head popping out of the second downstairs bathroom. Noticing Sibella staring at the boy, she comes out of the room entirely, pulling off her cleaning gloves and rubbing her wet hands on her apron before patting the boy's head − her son, Sibella supposes, though he looks nothing much like her with his curls and dark features. "But Mrs Hallward said he could stay if he wasn't a bother. Of course, if you'd prefer, I'll…"
"I never said he was a bother," Sibella retorts pointedly.
She hates it when grown-ups assume she doesn't know what she's saying. Looking at the boy, she sees again why he is so out of place, an employee's son. He is older than her, she assesses, maybe even as old as Grahame. His jumper must have belonged to someone twice his size and falls loose on his scrawny frame, but his trousers come a good couple inches above his gnarled ankles. His crop of curly hair looks like it's been brushed over and over without getting tamed, and his eyes… Sibella decides that there is something she likes about him, how demure his attitude, maybe. She makes a mental note to tell her tutor about her using the word demure, even in her own mind. That will for sure land her a gold star, hopefully enough to climb ahead of Cynthia.
"Do you want to come play knight and princess with me?" She asks him.
The boy looks at the maid hopefully and, for no reason she can explain, Sibella feels the urge to beg.
"Oh, please, Isobel, we'll be good! Grahame never agrees to play knight with me anymore…"
The maid seems to hesitate and Sibella stomps her feet impatiently. She hates waiting ever so much, even more when she is tempted with the novelty of a new play mate and must be stopped by such obligations as adults' permissions.
"Of course, Miss, if you really want…" The maid quickly replies. "Go on, Monty, go play with Miss Sibella, look how happy you'll make her!"
Monty is an excellent game partner, Sibella decides after two rounds of draughts that she of course won, by his intervention or not.
"I'm tired of this," Sibella sighs, pushing the board away.
"Of course!" Monty says, standing to his feet to wherever Sibella will lead him. "What do you want to do, Miss Sibella?"
Sibella taps her chin thoughtfully. It's been so long since she's had a good game partner. Ever since Cynthia started school, she's been above Sibella's company, proud and busy. Even Grahame, who was always Sibella's favorite sibling, though she'd never admit to it for fear of hurting her sister's feelings, has left for boarding school and only comes home on special occasions. Those occasions never include playing with her anymore. And as a matter of fact, Sibella believes that neither of them were even as good as Monty, not as meek or forgiving.
"Oh, let's pretend!" She says and trots to her costume trunk that she hasn't opened in ages − it's so much more boring to dress up when you're on your own. She pulls out a few scarves, a pretty dress. "I'll be the princess."
"Yes!" Monty says, helping her into the pretty garments. "What else!"
He's quite a bit taller than her, but she thinks he'll fit just right into the outfits Grahame used to wear. She pulls out the tunic from the bottom of the trunk, the white and red one that Grahame never liked, and hands it to him.
"Am I a prince, then?" He asks hopefully.
She giggles, shaking her head as she finds him some wooden sword.
"Course not!" She clarifies. "As if you could be a prince!"
"Well, what am I, then?" He cocks an eyebrow and she likes the way his head falls to the side in disappointment, his lips pouting.
"You're a ragged knight who's come to save me from the…"
"The evil king!" Monty seems more than agreeable with the scenario. As fast as he can, he pulls the tunic over his head and drops to his knees, presenting his sword to her. "Anything for you, my princess, my lady."
They make a game of it and as the day passes, it feels like her room is not really her room anymore. It's a castle now, the lovely, fancy, perfect prison of a mad evil king who tricked her into marrying him with some dark magic spell and only Monty her valiant knight can rescue her. He is the most noble, the most courageous of knights she could have ever hoped for and none of the traps she invents in her prison are an obstacle to him. He defeats dragons, monsters, goblins, evil guards, even the most evil of all, the king her captor, until finally, at the end of a very eventful day here in this room, the maid pops in and announces that their game is over.
"Now, come," Isobel says, pulling on a very sorry Monty's arm. "It's time to go home. All good things must have an end."
How right she is, Isobel couldn't even fathom. She couldn't have a clue of how perfect a play mate Monty is, because she's a grown-up and grown-ups never understand these things. Sibella begs and whines and asks a thousand times but Monty is not allowed to stay for longer, not today.
Monty's visits become her treats, though. Sibella makes a scene with Isobel every day until finally, she agrees to ask for her mother's permission to bring Monty to the Hallward mansion on Saturdays. Every week, the house is near empty anyways and it's up to the both of them to explore it. Somehow, Sibella doesn't really miss Grahame as much if his room left empty for the bigger part of the school year can be the theatre stage of so many stories Monty and her create, and she doesn't mind her parents going out to the club without her all day if it means they won't bother her with this and that when she has so much more important duties playing the glorious princess to Monty's ragged knight.
But all good things must come to an end. How many months does it last, three, four, six? Enough that Sibella and Monty have pretended to get married a dozen times, a ritual only witnessed by her teddies, a secret they keep between the two of them, giggling with every vow after he saves her once more from the evil king who only wanted her for her beauty and mistreated her. She never knew that last week's wedding would be the last at all.
"Where's Monty?" She frowns that morning.
She's brought out her prettiest pink dress today, the one with the bows and the pearls that she's only supposed to wear at big fancy parties and weddings. Well, she has a wedding to attend today, if her own counts.
"What is it, darling?" Her father asks without bothering to look, too busy tying his tie in the entrance hall's mirror, getting ready for his Saturday golf course.
"Where is Monty?" She repeats exasperatedly. "He's supposed to be here already."
"Who?"
"My friend. He comes on Saturdays. Where is he?"
Her dad chuckles and, done with his tie, pats Sibella's head.
"You're too old to make up friends, pet," he tells her, messing the pretty braids she spent all morning arranging.
She slaps his hand away and he snorts. Sibella hates when he's like this, when what she says doesn't matter. It's supposed to always matter.
"I didn't make him up, he's Isobel's son and he's my best friend!"
"Who's Isobel?" To Mama in the other room, he cries out. "Do we know an Isobel, dear?"
"Don't be daft, she means our maid." She turns to Sibella, appraising her from head to toe. "Sweetie, you don't have to put your best dress for a day at home. The maid quit, in any case."
Sibella's mouth gapes open despite herself.
"She quit?" Her dad frowns.
"Mama, is this a joke?"
Her mum strokes her cheek gently then gets on with her day as well, grabbing her purse and her hat. When she answers, she's talking to Papa, not Sibella.
"Not to fret, I'll find us another. Her husband…" She glances at Sibella then and mutters the next few words. "Passed away unexpectedly. And to think she has a son about Grahame's age… Well, they had to move to Clapham and find work there."
"To Clapham?" Her dad shakes his head, a hand already on her mother's lower back as they make their exit. "Well, it's very lucky you'll find us a new one, then. A maid from Clapham… What would they say about us at the club?"
It's a very lonely day for Sibella, followed by so many others until she forgets the pain. It gets better when she starts school, when Sibella leaves her gilded prison every day and meets new people, makes new friends. She learns who she ought to be loved by, whose house she should get invited to, whose birthday parties matter. She grows into popularity and beauty, her shoulders bearing the weight of the knowledge that the prettier and the more agreeable she looks, the better off she'll be in society. And isn't that all that matters?
Life flows much easier and smoother for everyone when no one really knows the truth about each other, she tells herself. Everybody loves Sibella at the club, her calculated pretty smiles, her armor of courtesies, her bare shoulders that show just enough to incite temptation, but not nearly enough as to give earnest promise of more. That Sibella is also the one her brother and sister are so fond of. When she leaves home with them, they open her eyes to the splendor of the luxurious parties, the delightful outings at the theatre, the highest of society around her and Sibella learns to comply to every unspoken rule of these evenings out, to be the mellow and lovable young lady everyone expects her to be. Isn't it so much easier that way?
There is a Sibella that nobody knows. In this tower, there is a princess begging to be set free, she feels sometimes, but isn't it much easier to forget about that and smile like the pretty little thing she is? Sibella doesn't allow herself to wallow in solitude, not when there is so much excitement in company of good society. That Sibella is hidden away, the bars at her windows golden and lovely and so pretty you'd forget she was even trapped in the jail of complacency.
"Are you coming to the club? There's to be good company," Cynthia offers to Sibella on a Saturday. "Mama says at least twenty young men from Oxford…"
Out of habit, perhaps, because Saturdays were always a lonely business as a child, Sibella has taken to staying at home on those days even now that there are such good alternatives, now that the club holds at least a little bit of interest − not enough to make her leave home for her well deserved rest. It is, after all, tiring business to be pretty all week long.
"Oh, I'm tired of boys," Sibella whines, fanning herself. "I don't want to leave this seat."
It's ever so hot today, the middle of June and though the sun is punishing her for her beauty, she intends to spend the whole day out basking in its light. The boys are fun for a while, all twenty and above and craving the forbidden fruit of Sibella's sixteen years, but she gets bored of them so quickly it loses all interest.
"Well, suit yourself," Cynthia says, retouching her make-up and her hair in her pocket mirror. Pressing her lips together, her mouth makes a pop sound and she stands up, grabbing her purse from the long chair next to Sibella's. "Oh, did Mama tell you? There's a pool boy coming later today to clean the water. She says she's tired of asking Papa to do it, and then having to do it herself. Be kind to him, will you?"
"I will try not to seduce him to perdition," Sibella jokes and Cynthia snorts before pressing a kiss on her forehead and leaving for the club.
She applies some lotion − she should have asked Cynthia to do it for her, arranges her hair, and lays out in the sun. Maybe she'll take a few laps later in the day, but for the moment, she is content to simply be. Closing her eyes, she feels completely at peace with…
"Pardon me, Miss Hallward?" A voice interrupts and she startles, sitting abruptly.
She recognizes him instantly, even across the pool, even though she hasn't seen him in a decade. Something about his untamed hair, his profile, and though his face is much sharper than it was, he still looks like a boy, like the boy she knew.
"Monty…"